


Survival

by jeb_039



Category: Tom Clancy's The Division
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:48:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27649094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeb_039/pseuds/jeb_039
Kudos: 1





	Survival

_ Core body temperature exceeds normal parameters… _

He shivers, hell of a time to be stranded in the middle of a storm. The worst to hit Manhattan, news would cover it...oh yeah. There is no news, hasn’t been in nearly 2 months. Green poison, otherwise known as the dollar flu, hit the nation like a sledge. So many dead, Manhattan quarantined. Then he got activated to head in and keep order. He looks around, not much to be seen in a flurry of white. The glow of orange nearby signaling a fire, he could use that to warm up quickly. A movement, a pause. Three of them, full body suits, masks, cleaners.

“Someone was here. I know it.”, he hears. If he had any SHD tech on hand he could deal with them quicker. But all he has is a pistol from the crash, and the hazmat suit he crashed in. Deep breath, he darts up, one’s back is turned, he fires. Round pierces the tank, the hiss of escaping gas flame, he ducks back down. It explodes, the other two thrown to the ground. A quick succession of fire and their both neutralized. He loots their bodies, some rations, a bottle of water, and some boots and gloves. He puts them on, once satisfied they fit well enough he continues onward. His wristwatch is the only light on him as he hurries through the storm. His vision blurs for a moment, he stumbles.

“Damn sepsis.”, he mumbles as he pulls out a bottle, taking two painkillers. Hurrying onward as he continues looking...there. A building, a graffitied orange circle on it, a hideout for division agents. He hurries over, showing his wristwatch to the scanner as the door unlocks. He hurries in, heat warming him up as he heads towards the crates. This hideout used to be a theater, refitted during the outbreak to be a shelter. Seems that didn’t pan out well. He loots what he can, some tech, new clothing to replace his tattered hazmat suit, and some more painkillers. He looks around more, a glint of medal catching his eye, an smg. MP5 specifically, worn but sturdy. He checks the mag, 19 rounds. It’ll do for now, but first, he needs to catch his breath.

“It’s going to be a long trek to get to the dark zone.”


End file.
